Guitar Beer Fest
by murderofonerose
Summary: Charles' POV. Hints of slash.


**Warning:** Pre-slash**  
Pairing:** Nathan/Charles  
**Words:** 800  
**Disclaimer:** I own nothing.

There's a part two from Nathan's perspective, written by the_kumquat (on livejournal) that can be found on the BrutalBusiness comm (190313 dot html).

* * *

He didn't look up from the paperwork he was going over as Nathan entered the room, but that didn't mean he'd been expecting the visit. Surprise, surprise – Nathan coming down the hall is usually quite audible.

"Can I help you with something?" he asked, not looking up. Level, calm-sounding. Good. Must stay professional. Pulse always jumps a little when he comes here to talk to me, these days.

"Yeah. This… guitar beer fest thing," Nathan grumbled, dropping down into one of the chairs in front of the desk with a quiet thud. Amazing how the man is mistaken for fat so often. There's pudge, yes, a definite beer gut, but still muscle beneath it. Wouldn't do for him to know that doesn't go unnoticed, though.

After waiting a moment, Charles looked up. (Stopped paying attention to the words on the page the moment Nathan had come in anyway.) "What about it?" he prompted.

Nathan hunched his shoulders a bit, half hiding behind his long black hair. Probably not on purpose; he doesn't have to _try_ for that to happen. "I don't feel like going. So, uh… you can get me out of it, right?"

Charles was careful not to react. Hadn't been expecting this. Nathan doesn't usually turn down beer.

"'Cause, you know, if I want booze I can just drink it here," the big man continued. "I don't, uh, really care if it comes in a guitar, or whatever." Guitar-shaped glasses. Close enough. "That's just… stupid. And I don't even play guitar. So."

"Ah." Charles nodded, as though he had anticipated that reasoning. Hadn't, of course, but that's Nathan logic for you. Inscrutable. Makes sense, but the lines between points A and B are sometimes a bit of a strangled route. "That's understandable. You want to… stay home, then?"

The others will go. Skwisgaar's been looking forward to this for months, and Toki just as long minus about five seconds. Last week, Pickles demanded his old guitar be hauled out of storage for the occasion and the inside of it waterproofed so he actually _can_ drink out of it. Murderface is mostly just going for the beer, and because everyone else is.

If Nathan stays, it will be just him and me.

Well. Him and a mansion full of employees. One of which is me.

"Yeah, I guess," Nathan grunted. "Nothing else to do. Hey—" Eyes lit up like that are never a good sign. As subtly as physically possible, Charles braced himself in his chair. "Hey, _we_ should drink beer together. You haven't gotten sloppy in a while."

Do not look alarmed, Charles. Do _not_. Deep breath, without letting him notice. This is a terrible idea.

"That sounds fine, Nathan," he said out loud.

This is not how the conversation should be going. But isn't it just saving time, cutting out the part where Nathan says that work is stupid and can be put off for a night of drinking and palling around?

Shouldn't be doing this. Far too affectionate when drunk. This will end badly.

"Great," Nathan said, grinning. Showing an awful lot of teeth, but that's normal. For him.

Charles almost wishes that Nathan would go away, right now, and let him work. (Work is very soothing.) But only almost; not enough to say so. Not enough to actively dislike the attention, though the scrutiny does make him a little uncomfortable. Scrutiny is easy to deal with, he reminds himself firmly. Get enough of that from the public, as the band's legal representative…

"We should get glasses shaped like… uh… microphones," Nathan continued. "And, uh, I don't know. Whatever the fuck you want. A briefcase? No—" Another toothy grin. "—A tie."

"Novelty glasses," Charles confirms, making a note on one of his many to-do lists. "Any particular kind of beer?"

"Uh… good beer."

"Ah." Wonderfully specific. Thank you, Nathan.

"Okay. Good." Nathan watched him for a moment, frowning slightly. Thinking about something? "Okay, so I'll see you for drinking and getting sloppy and stuff in, uh…"

"Two nights," Charles supplied. "On Wednesday."

"Wednesday. Right." He frowned in earnest, pointing at him threateningly. "And you'd better not pull that crap where you say you have a meeting or some shit at the last minute, and try to get out of it."

Oh come on, that had only happened once and there actually _had_ been an emergency meeting with the label. Let it go. "I'll do my best to make sure that doesn't happen," Charles replied calmly. Unless of course something urgent came up, as things tended to do around Dethklok.

Nathan squinted at him, then nodded and stood up, apparently satisfied.

Charles watched him go, a little too wistfully. Oh yes, this is a terrible idea.

With a sigh, he went back to work.


End file.
